


Photographs

by naturalblues



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Introspection, Romance, atwell!thirteen, rose tyler as the doctor's wife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 19:34:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7327507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naturalblues/pseuds/naturalblues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor reminisces a bit about his life with his wife, Rose Tyler, as he prepares to regenerate into his Thirteenth form. Based on Atwell!Thirteen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Photographs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lunaseemoony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaseemoony/gifts).



  


* * *

 

 

”You’re going to lose this one,” the Doctor breathed, looking the enemy directly in the eye. “You don’t understand the power in a marriage bond.”

  
”Marriage bond?” the demonic looking Skelion scoffed at his adversary. “Marriage is for the weak. It is no bond.”

* * *

 

The Doctor’s bond with his wife had begun long before this. His bond with his wife had begun before they’d even truly met. It had begun when she had met his War Doctor self, and had turned herself into the weapon that he would use to end the Time War, in order to assuage his guilt by placing it on her.

  
The instant he’d set his hands on her, some desperation in his body had created a connection with the weapon.

  
He could feel the very tendrils of her in his mind, rushing along his nerve endings like when your leg was asleep, and then you moved.

  
Powerful. Pleasure.

  
He’d cursed himself for connecting with her -- a bit like rutting with one’s car -- because the weapon would explode and die, and his people would be erased. Galaxy eater, she would consume all and be like a supernova, and he would be audience to this fantastic horror in a way no one ought to survive. He was both terrified and excited to feel the horrors wrought from the flesh of this weapon’s flesh. It would be the most he’d ever truly felt from his people, or from another person. More than anyone should ever feel, but some sick part of his mind had been curious about how it would feel for him.

* * *

 

When he’d met Rose in his Ninth form, oh, he could feel the zing of his nerves when he touched her, so he did it as often as possible. He’d touched her hand and held it over and over and over again, not believing that he could ever feel this way. He’d fought it, but he couldn’t stop the heat of his gaze when he looked at her. He’d avoided dancing since regenerating from his Eighth form, but oh, he’d danced with her, and he’d wanted to _dance_ with her, too, until his time sense shut the hell _off_.

  
He never had, and he was a sodding idiot for having wasted his time.

  
But the feeling of her in his arms had been worth every moment. The way her scent had wrapped around him, mixing with his and sparking something primal in his blood. He’d moved his body in a silly way, but when she’d offered herself to him in that room he’d come so close. In front of Harkness, though -- who was _not a real Captain_ \-- he’d pressed her body against his and smiled in soft victory. She was _his_.

  
When his Ninth self decided to save Rose Tyler’s life, to take on the power of the Bad Wolf and howl back, he’d made certain to get one last kiss. In that kiss he’d seen that she’d been the Moment, the Bad Wolf, and he’d feared her death that he couldn’t remember. He’d also remembered the connection, and hadn’t been able to help himself, really -- he’d pulled part of her mind into his, shocked to feel her encouragement in his mind, and had created a surface bond between them, one that Gallifreyans would consider ‘dating’.

  
In that kiss, he’d given her all of himself that he possibly had. He’d told the universe that all he truly wanted was just one lifetime with Rose. She was the only woman he’d ever truly loved -- and he’d spent centuries pining for that strange emotions that evoked so much out of human beings. Love plagued their souls, it urged them to war, to another’s side, to work against their own self interest, and even to bed.

  
He’d felt lust before, but that had been very selective as well, and it hadn’t evoked those feelings that so many humans had written about. He knew all the stories, all the rhymes, and all of the sonnets that people had written about love. He devoured books like a chainsmoker, but it didn’t compare to his need for her body. None of the stories had done it justice because it was better and worse than in those stories. It was better in its feelings, but worse in its occasional awkwardness. But even in times where he’d been all fumbles, her body was a taste, a feeling that he needed.

  
That was a hunger he couldn’t slake.

  
Every body craved her touch, her smile, her eyes, her laugh.

* * *

 

His Tenth form had been born out of his love for her, speaking with her accent and trying to look like any of those blokes that she would look at on telly or in those trashy magazines. He’d always cursed over the fact that she’d seemed to moon over blokes with no muscle tone, and his Ninth form had been all sinewy musculature and hardened planes. Now he was softer, Jack’s hair, her eyes, whatever she wanted, whatever she needed... that form had been made out of love but had made many a faux pas out of fear of commitment, out of fear of the power of his feelings. Falling into Reinette’s touch when he hadn’t even liked her like that… she was just blonde, and in his mind, and for a few moments he could pretend she was Rose. He’d lost Rose’s trust with that, and the way she’d pulled away from his mind had been a pain well deserved.

  
Gods, but he’d lost her, almost permamently.

  
When she’d been lost to Pete’s World he’d thought he’d never love again.

  
River Song had come along, of course, and tried to hold out some future romantic entanglement with him, and even whispered his name in his ear, but... he’d known that she must be from an alternate timeline, some timeline where he’d never met Rose, because he couldn’t imagine being with anyone else. He was in mourning, and if she was his wife and he’d trusted her and all that jazz, well, she should have known that then was not the right time to suddenly do that. She just should have taken better care with his hearts, was all, like his wife did.

  
So maybe she’d come from a timeline where she hadn’t any need to.

  
She’d died, and it’d been sad, but he hadn’t felt any major loss. His Rose had haunted his thoughts day and night. When he’d found her again, he’d begun to run for her and had almost gotten hit by a Dalek’s laser, but Donna had shouted something at him and made him pause, causing it to narrowly miss him.

  
Handy, that.

 

He’d felt the split in timelines just as he’d wrapped his arms around Rose and gone with her to save the universe from the darkness.

 

Landing back in Pete’s World, on the beach that haunted his nightmares, he’d stood there and watched her speak to her mother, knowing he’d have to swipe Donna’s memories and give up Rose now, so she could rightly be with her family.

 

The unselfish thing to do.

 

To leave him all alone.

 

But Rose had turned and asked him, in Gallifreyan, why he was abandoning her. Her eyes searched his, and he could feel her on the pinpricks of his nerves and he’d _known_ that she was the girl who had returned from whatever had happened. She’d lived, somehow, and she wasn’t human anymore. If he left her here with her family he would be damning her to a life watching those she loved grow old and die without her. He’d made his decision right there, on that beach, wearing his blue suit that she’d insisted he never wear again, and had fallen into her eyes and her kiss. He’d sought out her consent and pulled her into a bond that Gallifreyans would consider being betrothed, still not fully believing she would ever want him fully, and more than happy to keep her as much as he could while keeping a respectable distance.

  
Best not to ruin her, now.

 

* * *

 

 

His Eleventh form, he’d hoped, while listening to those strangely sadistic, yet helpful Ood sing him to sleep, was going to be funloving, and brave and maybe worthy of his fiancee’s attentions and affections. But it felt so much like the same to him, he would go too far, and commit acts he hadn’t meant to because he just couldn’t stop himself. He would end up cursing and hating himself, as much as he’d tried to put on a happy face, and she would try to explain to him that he couldn’t do the same things as his younger self did because PTSD was a really real thing, yes, even for Time Lords, and that she was going to help him. She’d spent countless nights and days at his side as he swung between the decisions of whether or not he was a good man or not. She’d held his hand through the bad, forgiven him for all of his darkest acts, even for genocide, and for what? For him to deny her more?

 

Kissing her was no longer good enough. He’d taken her on the floor in the middle of one of his fits of rage and their first time was exactly that -- rutting off his lust on her body like an animal. Oh, bless, it was so much like the time during the Time War. She let him find solace between her thighs like a dying man, and didn’t even seem upset over the lack of romance.

 

Months later, they’d been having sex on the regular, but it wasn’t until River Song had held the universe hostage in order to try to force him to marry her that he’d gotten tired of his own commitment issues. He’d held Rose at an arms length and to what purpose? To see if she’d leave? She didn’t seem to care if he was a good man or not, and he certainly wouldn’t be happy with anyone else. Instead of marrying River, he shocked Amy and shattered River’s heart by marrying Rose that day. He’d made love to Rose that night for the first of many times, and had twined their minds, hearts, and souls together. It had made the centuries spent on Trenzalore that much easier, hold his wife’s hand and having her around, even as he got physically older and she never changed.

 

They’d formed an unbreakable bond on that planet, and their minds had come so that they never spoke around each other, never truly had to complete a thought -- the other simply _knew_.

 

That bond had been different when he’d regenerated again, scaring the hell out of his wife and their companion, Clara. It had taken a lot for him and Rose to get back on an even keel, but they always managed. She’d held him after he realized the full loss of the Brigadier upon seeing his Cyberman form, and had giggled at him as he found his own silliness with a pair of sunnies and a guitar. She was there to help him fight Missy, and knew every childhood memory that had destroyed him every single time he fought whatever incarnation of the Master he found. He felt so personally responsible for the damage wrought on the universe by the other Time Lord and hated himself and his friend for both.

 

Empty children, Slitheen, Weeping Angels, Cybermen, Daleks, Dream Crabs, she was by his side for every single thing.

 

Saying goodbye with him to everyone, Donna when she’d gone off on her own travels (she’d promised to come back some day), Amy and Rory when they’d chosen to stay behind, River when she’d realized she didn’t have a chance with him and had finally found another, Jack and Ianto’s wedding, Clara when she’d gotten married to Ashildr.

 

The two of them had gotten remarried on Gallifrey the proper way, as a thank you from the Lord President.

 

But this asshole… he’d been regenerated into his Thirteenth form, fighting these things. His wife didn’t know what he looked like, yet, and he was terrified, because River had stupidly given him her regenerations to save his life and as such, he was a woman. His wife had never really expressed a desire to be with a woman, although… why would she? She was with him as a man, and so of course the thought of being with another woman wouldn’t really come up, with her knowing how jealous he could become, and with her and his thoughts being so twisted and consumed in each other.

 

* * *

 

 

Now, the Doctor stood there, wearing her old form’s clothing, which hung on her in some places, and clung to her in others, as thin and wiry build was replaced with trim curves and supple flesh. She’d been thinking of Rose and Clara when she’d regenerated and thus became a weird mixture of the two, at least in her own mind. She pushed forward, using their defenses against them and winning -- clever, her -- and finally making it into their prison with her Tardis.

 

Bill called out from her cell that she shared with Rose, and when the Doctor found them, she could see that their companion was holding it really well together while her wife was on the floor, clutching her head in pain. She was proud of Bill for being so strong, and would tell her as much later, but for now, oh now, she had a wife to get back to.

 

She took Bill’s place over her wife, and gently pressed her fingers to her wife’s temples, trying to keep a good breathing rhythm.

 

“Come on, love,” she murmured, “Up you get. Come back to me.”

 

She pushed her mind into the darkness and pain in her wife’s mind, pain created by stretching their bond taut and trying to break it.

 

She manually reconnected every single piece of herself to her wife, feeling the new awareness across their bond, surprised on some level that the reaction wasn’t negative. Her wife didn’t care what she looked like, truly didn’t, as long as it was her. She could have had tentacles and her wife would still have been interested in an eternity with her. For someone born human, that was quite a trait of love.

 

Rose’s eyes opened, and that soft smile touched her full lips as she looked into the eyes of her wife and just knew, in that moment, that the Doctor’s eyes looked both the same, and different for a reason. Because while they were the same person, it was different stages of a person’s life like a caterpillar and a butterfly. The Doctor’s eyes were finally clear of that crippling rage, and now were filled with a purpose and life that made her tear up.  


Stroking Rose’s face, the Doctor gently pressed her lips to hers and felt that feeling all over again.  


She was finally back in her wife’s arms, to stay, hopefully.

  
Although now she was curious about what making love would be like.  


Bill cleared her throat awkwardly, and the two got up, smiling and Rose blushing a bit, all the way down to her chest.

   
_They keep trying to split us up, but they never, ever will._

  
So true, love. So true.

 

* * *

 

Her wife took her hand as she walked back into the Tardis, headed straight for the wardrobe to be able to find her new signature outfit. Timelines opened before the couple, of all of the adventures this body was about to have.

  
This Universe needed a Doctor, and every Doctor needed her Rose.


End file.
